


Catalysis

by trueblackhand



Series: Catalyst [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha!Genji, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Cyberninja Hanzo Shimada, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Identity Porn, Incest, Kidnapping, M/M, Sentai Genji Shimada, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest, Talon!Jesse, omega!hanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-01-09 03:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12268026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trueblackhand/pseuds/trueblackhand
Summary: His days are spent as Genji Shimada, but after dark he sheds his Yakuza name, along with all its implications, and becomes Sentaiman. It's a choice Genji makes for himself— to be a hero, to save Tokyo with Cyberninja at his side.The pursuit of justice is dangerous, but thrilling in a way crime never was and never will be. Risky, but worth it. At least until he hears the coms crackle and an unfamiliar voice drawl through the static."I know you're listening, Sentaiman."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muja/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to [Muja](https://mujaween.tumblr.com) for making this happen, and to my sweet writer friends that helped me along ♥
> 
>  **Some quick things:** The dubcon tag is mostly to be on the safe side, since it's fuck or die, and omegaverse here features omegas with intersex genitalia (cock, testes, and a bonus omega hole located where the perineum would be) — happy reading, folks!

Midnight. 

The sky is blackened overhead, a few stray smudges of starlight still visible over the fluorescent glow of Marunouchi’s streets.

Tokyo is never truly at peace.

Sentaiman makes his way through the metropolitan landscape, his body leaden and heavy under his suit. Perhaps he’s gone too long without rest, much the same as the city —the fatigue of too many busy nights catching up to him.

But this; he wouldn’t miss for the world. 

He spends his days as Genji Shimada, the spare son of the Shimada-gumi, an infamous yakuza syndicate that wrests control over the entire prefecture’s underworld. (The irony of a yakuza superhero is not lost on him.) But the Jingi code of ethics, with all its grey morality, has always strictly been his father and brother’s world. Choosing to fight crime and save people? That was all Genji. 

No one can see his tattoos under the suit, anyway. He’s anonymous, a hero, and the company is good. 

“I am in position,” Cyberninja’s voice echoes over the coms, dry and lightly mechanical as always, bringing a smile to Genji’s lips.

Yes, the company is good. 

They’re the only two members of Team Overwatch in Japan as far as he is aware, and end up working together more often than not. Much to Cyberninja’s chagrin. 

He’s guarding the entry point to a vacated office building, keeping look out so Genji  _ —Sentaiman—  _ can slip in undetected. Lime green costume or not, he’s silent as he tracks through the building, nothing but the crackle of static in his ears as the com perks up again. 

“This would have gone considerably soother had you allowed me to kill that omnic.” 

Bickering as usual, Cyberninja playing the part of the reluctant hero. 

Genji clucks his tongue. “All lives have value.” 

“It is just a machine,” Cyberninja counters and Genji rolls his eyes. 

“Says the  _ cyber ninja.” _

Amusement wells up in his stomach, leaving Genji chuckling softly as he breaks the lock on an office door. There’s no time for delicacy. The goal of tonight is to secure the fledgling beginnings of a god program, every second matters against an ever evolving AI. 

Cyberninja’s voice over the coms helps ease some of that tension. Genji can hear him bristle, huffing out one of those familiar, indignant sighs. “I am still a man.” 

Genji hums his compliance as he picks through the room, beneath his visor he sees in electromagnetic hues, and settles on digging through a set of drawers as he replies. “I  _ have _ been thinking about which parts of you are soft.” 

It’s shameless. 

He doesn’t care— even if wondering what’s underneath all the armour and cybernetics almost distracts him from the task. There’s nothing in the drawers, or the briefcase by the desk. 

“Do your job, Sentaiman.” A cold huff of a response, but Genji can picture the flustered look in Cyberninja’s eyes. He’s gotten very good at picking it out. 

“I am  _ trying— _ aha!” His fingers brush against a box stuck to the underside of the desk, it comes loose with a tug and a satisfied grin unfurls on Genji’s lips. This one is in the bag. Overwatch will contain or destroy it, their little world of Tokyo saved another day. 

There’s a grunt from the coms, not one of acknowledgement but winded— like the air being thrown from someone’s chest. 

Cyberninja’s chest. 

Genji goes tense, heartbeat thudding loud in his ears. He doesn’t wait, takes one last glance down at the bundle of whirring mechanical parts in his palm and clips it to his belt, taking off into a sprint. 

“Cyberninja,” he calls into the mic, knowing it’s futile, some instinctive, gut deep reaction telling him it’s already too late. It doesn’t stop his legs from moving, breakneck through the web of the building. 

There’s a crackle, the hiss of static. 

“Well well, what have we got here—” 

That is  _ not  _ Cyberninja. The words are spoken in accented English, thick and drawling. American. A southerner, by his guess.

“Lil’ omega thinkin’ he can play hero, ain’t that cute.” 

Genji has to bite down his growl, the urge to leap to Cyberninja’s defense wrenching through him. A petty thing to pick, some secondary designation that has no bearing on Cyberninja’s ability— more than that, he thinks of Hanzo. Cunning, ruthless Hanzo that has trained his whole life to lead a clan of yakuza. Neither of them deserve to be underestimated. 

“You listenin’ there, Sentaiman?” 

Cyberninja’s voice is muffled in the background audio, like his mouth is covered. 

Like he’s gagged. 

Genji picks up the pace, scrambling to climb a nearby wall, looking for where Cyberninja made his perch.

“I know you are, better hurry up now. Such a pretty thing, this one, be a real shame if anythin’ happened to him.” 

He does growl then, his teeth gritted as he swings his leg over a ledge pulling himself up onto a low balcony. His shuriken are between his fingers before he knows it, clenched painfully tight, the whole of him aching for a fight. 

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on him,” Genji snaps, tunnel visioned, Cyberninja  _ must  _ be around here somewhere. The bright Tokyo lights don’t seem so bright any more, the darkness is pervasive, cloying at his skin. 

“I could be layin’ my fingers on him right now.” 

Cyberninja makes a distant higher, pitched noise of protest and Genji’s imagination runs wild. He sets off at a sprint, too fast, careening around corners and skidding on concrete. 

Something skitters beneath his feet. A flash, a bang. He can just make out the dark etch of a talon logo, then everything is subsumed by blinding, impossible white. 

He’d been reckless, short sighted. 

Despite the ringing in his ears Genji can hear his shuriken clattering to the floor. Some surreal chime of metal on hard ground as a boot presses into his spine. He claws at consciousness, viciously digging his nails in to try to stay afloat, but his limbs are unresponsive beneath him. 

Black eats away his vision, falling like ink on paper until there’s nothing. 

Nothing at all.

 

* * *

When he awakes he’s tied down. Tight bands of pressure squeeze against his wrists, his ankles, thighs, waist. It’s a thorough job, and the remnant of whatever drug knocked him out makes it hard to flex his fingers. 

He’s still in his suit, visor and all. That no one had taken to stripping him of it seems an oversight. The AI he’d pinned to his belt is long gone, but that hardly comes as a surprise.

“Sentaiman?” A familiar, shivery voice asks— undistorted from the coms Genji can better hear the light metallic tone it takes. Some unspoken tension fades from his chest. 

_ “Cyberninja.”  _

The relief is short lived when he remembers he has no idea where they are. The ceiling is a dull grey tile, entirely nondescript, he’s restrained, and there’s a shudder to Cyberninja’s words he’s unused to hearing. 

Cyberninja, for all the time they’ve spent together and shit they’ve been through, is notoriously hard to rattle. 

It takes a second before he’s able to turn his head, seeking out his counterpart. The need to make sure he’s  _ safe  _ burns through Genji, hot and fierce. 

“Are you hurt?” 

Genji spots him, curled in on himself with his back against the wall, almost out of view. Cyberninja shakes his head, but Genji’s eyes narrow. 

“Not  _ hurt,   _ but I do not feel... as I should.”

It doesn’t take a mastermind to see it; something here is wrong. It laps away at him even beyond the fact that he’s bound, and Cyberninja is not. 

Static flares and fill the room, broken by the same drawl he heard earlier. 

“See you’re finally up, Sentaiman— good, think your friend there only has a few minutes before it really hits.” 

Confusion draws itself across Genji’s face, but Cyberninja  _ tches, _ his eyes sharp and his jaw set in a hard line. 

“Until  _ what  _ hits?” 

“Oh, he ain’t told you?” A low rolling chuckle, more pleased than it has any right to be. “Ask him, I think he knows.” 

Cyberninja practically glowers, but denies nothing. 

“M-My heat,” it’s forced out, the width of Cyberninja’s shoulders folding in on himself, “it shouldn’t be possible—” 

Genji knows it shouldn’t be possible. 

Cyberninja takes suppressants.

He knows, though they rarely discuss these things. The issue is a delicate one, steeped in secrecy. Few people outside of Team Overwatch are aware of Cyberninja’s designation. They keep it that way for a reason. 

The words from earlier make more sense now. That unsubtle, deliberate needling. Talon wants to break Cyberninja down, this is a lesson, a punishment. 

Any hint of weakness will be exploited.

“Think the two of you’ve caused enough trouble for one night, thought I’d keep you nice an’ distracted.” 

Cyberninja shifts, restless. 

Genji refuses to call it squirming, refuses to believe any of this is happening. His vision blazes red, dark and angry as he struggles against the bonds, metal digging uncomfortably even past the padding of his suit. 

“We call it _ ‘Catalyst’.  _ Been workin’ on it for a while, haven’t quite straightened out the kinks jus’ yet.” 

Cyberninja starts to shudder, and  _ fuck— _ Genji can smell it. Even under the helmet the scent of slick is present and growing more potent with every minute that passes. He bites his lip against a groan, his body reacting without permission, cock beginning to strain. 

_ An omega needs me.  _

The most primal part of his brain whispers to him as he tugs fruitlessly against his bonds. 

“Might wanna hurry up, last fella we dosed waited too long. Didn’t end pretty.” 

A snarl trickles out of Genji, his instincts bleeding too close to the surface, all logical thought clouded by the scent of honeysuckle in the air. 

It shouldn’t; but it reminds him of home. The one rare time he caught his brother in the midst of his cycle, lips parted, guilty in how he’d looked at Genji. If he closes his eyes he can still feel Hanzo’s gaze lingering on his broad shoulders, moving down to the swell of his arms. 

They’d never spoken about it, and that was probably best.

“You two lovebirds have fun now,” the voice chimes, incessant and gratingly twee. If Genji wasn’t tied within an inch of his life he’d move to rip the tendons from the man’s throat. 

The line makes an electronic beep as it cuts out, leaving Genji with the impression they’re not truly alone. As though it matters, as though they have a choice.

Genji is no stranger to sex, but this isn’t a simple conquest, some disposable happenstance to scratch an itch. This is danger and temptation and  _ tension. _ Months of flirting Genji was sure he’d never see to fruition thickly weighing in the air. 

“Cyberninja.” 

His voice comes unexpectedly soft, the gentle command of an alpha seeking only to protect. He won’t see his partner dead at the hands of Talon. He refuses.

Cyberninja doesn’t answer, just shivers with his head tucked against his knees, curled into a ball. 

“This is what I have feared, for the longest time— perhaps they are right, and an omega has no place being a hero.” 

It’s defeated, blank, emotionless, but Genji can scent him still, artificial heat drowned by his natural sweetness and the bitter tang of sorrow. 

Genji twists, body straining toward Cyberninja, every inch of him needing to protect, to soothe. “No,” he says, “you are one of the most capable people I know, do not— do not listen to them. Come here,” softer, a note of pleading there in his voice, “let me help.” 

“Sentaiman.” 

Not quite a protest, but there’s reluctance even if Cyberninja shifts from where he’s curled.

“It’s just me,” Genji reminds, aching to cup Cyberninja’s face in his palms, remove his helmet so they can see eye to eye. They’re not supposed to do that, their identities must remain secret, but Genji longs for it anyway.

He never thought someone could turn his gaze away from Hanzo. 

Slowly, Cyberninja pads closer. Genji coaxes him with gentle words, trying to hide the tremor to his voice. Every step sends further shockwaves of want through him, his breath comes unsteadily, his cock viciously hard and straining against his too tight suit. 

This close Genji can see the drug taking its toll; the beaded sweat on Cyberninja’s forehead, flush visible on what little skin shows above his covered nose and chin. He’s tentative, hovering where Genji is tied, brushing his fingers over Genji’s arm like he’s scared to touch. Scared to need. 

Whatever they fed into him, it’s breaking Cyberninja’s tightly wrought control piece by piece.

A shiver of anticipation flares in Genji’s stomach, and  _ god  _ he shouldn’t feel that, shouldn’t crave it as desperately as he does— but his nose is full of the sweet scent of slick, and his mind is crowded with images of Cyberninja’s legs spread over his hips, showing him that pretty pink slit he hides beneath his armour. 

Genji bites his lip, and tries to remember to breathe.

“You— you’re…” 

He follows the line of Cyberninja’s eyes, catching him staring down at the prominent bulge between his legs. 

“Yes?” 

He says it like a question, but how could he not be? Every inch of him strains toward Cyberninja, alpha instincts singing out to give him what he needs. Genji’s been watching Cyberninja for a while— seen all those mannerisms that remind him so much of Hanzo, the long dark hair, strict eyes, the bow. All wrapped up in a too capable, perfect omega body. 

Genji would worship him, if given the chance. With lips and teeth and skin on skin, a touch for every thought he’d ever had. Like he's always wanted to do for Hanzo. 

“Do you—”

_ “—Yes.”  _ Genji cuts him off.

Better ‘yes’ than  _ please,  _ but he'll beg if he must. 

Cyberninja doesn't look at him, avoiding the visual slice of his visor as he plucks away at his own clothes, stripping himself down. 

Genji watches in fascinated rapture as a muscular chest is revealed and, more slowly, slick drenched thighs and a cute, little omega cock. 

He’s gorgeous, like Genji knew he would be. 

There’s a beat before he spots it, too distracted looking elsewhere; _ ink.  _ Ink that branches over the swell of a thick pectoral, familiar swirling blue and clouds.

He knows that tattoo, intimately. His own sprawls over the arch of his shoulders, patterned much the same, green dragons instead of blue. Instead of red, like their father’s. 

It’s Hanzo, because of course it is. 

Genji’s breath tightens in his throat, a stifled wheeze of a groan.  _ His brother. _ Hanzo doesn’t have to remove the stretch of fabric that covers his chin. Genji can see it all clicking into place— never realising it sooner. Always passing it off as coincidence. 

Millions of people call Tokyo their home, how could he have known? 

A finger drifts along the inside of his thigh and up. Over the bend where it meets his hip, then Hanzo cups his cock and squeezes. 

Distantly Genji hears himself curse, barely recognising the sound of his own voice as Cyberninja  _ —as Hanzo— _ peels him from the costume. Gloved hand taking him in a grip that has Genji’s world flare into burning hot white.

Hanzo’s face creases in concentration, those dark brows furrow, his eyes glassy. 

“You’re beautiful,” Genji breathes, the words stolen from him, plucked straight from his chest.

Hanzo’s face, still half hidden, goes pink at the praise. “Hush,” he says, the word unsteady as he climbs atop Genji. The move gives Genji a glimpse of Hanzo’s slit, tucked back behind the swell of his balls. Wet and stolen and  _ too hot _ when Hanzo brushes them together, grinding into the pressure of Genji’s cock. Like he can’t help it. Like he needs it. 

Just as badly as Genji.

The metal bands keeping Genji pinned feel different now with Hanzo over him, breathing hard and pushing his suit away to rest his palms flat on Genji’s chest. He’d let Hanzo tie him down— take what he needed in a heartbeat. The pleasure is dark, twisted in knowing Hanzo is none the wiser. It racks shivers through Genji all the same. 

“C’mon— that’s it,” Genji can’t help the encouragements that spill from his lips, his hips arching needy when Hanzo presses the tip of his cock up against his slit. Nails dig into his chest and Hanzo sinks down without warning, plunging Genji into wet, silken heat. 

Hanzo throbs around him, and Genji can feel his pulse race to match it. 

“Ah— fuck,” _ anija, _ “Cyberninja.” 

Change comes over Hanzo the moment Genji is inside him, the damn breaking as he pants and squirms and bucks. Genji balls his hands into fists and groans, he can do nothing but let Hanzo take his pleasure. Use him for what he needs. The thought makes his gut clench full of heat, his hips rolling unsteadily. 

His anija is so tight, so wet. It’s too much already, leaving him with his teeth grit, glad no one can see the desperate pleasure on his face. Hanzo moves fluidly above him, setting the rhythm, groaning softly with every rise and fall. It’s unexpected; the switch from abashed to shameless. Maybe it’s the heat— leaving Hanzo too consumed for pride, or maybe his brother has some experience Genji doesn’t know about.

It pushes a growl from his lips to imagine Hanzo giving this to anyone else. Letting anyone other than Genji fuck his sweet little cunt. Hanzo was always meant to be his, always.

Hanzo’s cock juts up against his stomach— bobbing with every motion of his hips, accompanied by the wet squelch of skin on skin. He’s slick enough Genji can feel it growing tacky on his thighs, the scent of heat soaking in, Hanzo leaving his mark.

The pace is urgent, off kilter the faster Hanzo rides, all but bouncing above him. Hanzo; the perfect, dutiful son— the brother whose shadow Genji lives in— clenches down on every upward thrust. 

Talon is a background concern, the eyes Genji doesn’t doubt are watching don’t matter. He’d be watching too, if it meant seeing someone as pretty and perfect as Hanzo squirm, consumed in blazing hot need. He drags Genji with him, closer with every sigh, with every collision of skin.

“Sentaiman,” Hanzo gasps out in a ragged exhale, taking a tone Genji never thought he’d hear on Hanzo’s lips— something almost feverish, shrill,  _ pleading. _ “I need your knot.” 

Genji cock swells wider at the base as if on command, well trained to the sound of his brother’s voice. Curses linger on his tongue as sharp as razors, filling his mouth with the taste of blood as he bites down on his tongue. 

If only Hanzo would say his name, let it fall just as breathless as his cries. But there’s no way Hanzo can know this; that it’s his  _ otouto _ splitting him open, saving him, giving him everything. 

That it’s  _ Genji  _ he’s fucking with such little reservation.

“Fuck.” 

It’s all Genji can think or say, the brimming heat inside him mounting to an unbearable high, boiling and spilling over. The metal cuffs bite into his wrists as he strains, growling low in his throat, the sound mingling with Hanzo’s breathy screams as his knot pops inside. His cock keeps twitching, the tip of him kissing up against something deep within, his seed filling Hanzo in long, aching spurts. 

Hanzo doesn’t go quiet after that, he hunches atop Genji squirming and moaning, pressing a hand to his stomach before taking his cock between the knuckles of his first two fingers. He strokes himself like that, with quick little flicks until he spills in thick ropes over Genji’s chest— hot on bare, shuddering skin. 

Stunned almost silence lingers overhead as they catch their breaths. Hanzo doesn’t even know the worst of it, but Genji’s head swims with the knowledge that he’ll have to look him in the eye later and pretend this didn’t happen. 

Genji’s shaken from his dizzy, post-orgasm wonderings by the hiss of pneumatics, the bands of metal keeping him gripped down to the table sliding free. His hands reach for Hanzo’s thighs on autopilot, stroking the still shivering flesh, warmth bleeding through the suit to his fingertips. 

“Alright?” Genji asks, squeezing the muscle there. 

Hanzo nods, his chest a flushed pink, his dark eyes shy and flinching. 

They get no more time, no afterglow in which Genji can enjoy the feeling of Hanzo too tight and gripping at his knot. No time for quiet words or the reassurances Genji wants to give. 

Static crackles overhead. 

_ “You two sure know how to put on a show.”  _

Genji’s heart sinks in his chest, stomach flooding with a mix of sickly fear and the budding beginnings of anger. So they  _ had  _ been watched— unsurprising but irritating. Heats are supposed to be a private ordeal; a highly guarded moment where an omega is at their most vulnerable. This is violation on top of violation.

Shuffling upright, Genji pulls Hanzo closer as a growl vibrates in the back of his throat. He cradles Hanzo’s head into the crook of his neck, guarding him as his instincts demand. 

“Now, now. None of that,” that deep drawl chastises. “An’ here I was, being nice, lettin’ you fellas go.” 

A lie. Genji’s sure of it at first, but there’s a snick to his left. Unbound he can finally turn enough to see the whole room. He catches a glimpse of a shuttered door sliding open— a trap then? Why else would Talon tease them with the promise of freedom? 

“I’m a reasonable man. Don’t see the fun in killing you two off, naw. Figure we’ll be needing you for somethin’ else down the line. When you two finally unstick you’re free to go, but don’t cause no more trouble— y’might run into someone less forgiving than me.” 

Genji looks to Hanzo— to  _ Cyberninja. _ He has to remember what name to call him by, remember that they are teammates, not brothers. At least as far as Hanzo is aware. His brows are pulled into a deep frown, face filled with just as much confusion. 

“You two run along now, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” 

On their way out they catch a glimpse of a silhouetted figure, his eyes masked. He tips his hat, they flee quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed me your thoughts, comments are //clenches fist// _the best._
> 
> For more shenanigans find me @ [trueblackhand](trueblackhand.tumblr.com)|tumblr ♥


	2. Intermission: Hanzo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Hanzo B side following our main story... It's short but worth including as the warm up to a sequel that's coming veeeeery soon ;3

Hanzo is on high alert the moment he steps into the Shimada estate, ducking around guards to find a lesser known, quieter path to his room. Absolutely no one can find him like this; thighs damp, hair askew, clean clothes barely hiding the scent of sex that’s dried tacky on his skin. He’d paused only to shed Cyberninja’s armour—cast it aside like some unfortunate memento—no time for a shower or real clean-up.

By now the sun is high in the sky, mid morning at least, even if there’s no disgruntled call from Sojiro, demanding to know his whereabouts.

It's been a while, he'll be expected soon.

All he needs is to scrub himself until nothing remains of the night before. Then he can return to being the dutiful son.

He closes the shoji to his room with feigned nonchalance, rubbing his arms and willing away the discomfort prickling through him. His skin feels raw, aching all over like an exposed nerve, _unclean_ after he’d—after Sentaiman—he halts, there again in his mind; heat sick and needy, pressing his palms down flat on Sentaiman’s chest as he's speared wide on his first alpha cock…

A fresh wave of desire knocks into his chest, knees weak as he stumbles into the bathroom. Fumbling with the sash, Hanzo lets his yukata fall to the floor. He should fold it, normally he _would_ fold it, but his fingers tremble, his world is tinged in the dull haze of fatigue.

The events of the night eat at him, gnaw a hole through his stomach. His failures, the consequences. To think he’d involved _Sentaiman_ as well—stripped naked, delirious in his heat, and ridden him until they’d both shattered.

He curls a hand against his chest, dips his head to tuck into himself. He truly is everything they had made him out to be; nothing more than a helpless omega in need of a good knotting. A plaything to be used and discarded. His reflection mirrors him, and he looks the same as he always has. Not a slender thing, even if his ink black hair is long and sleek. His shoulders are wide, his frame stocky with muscle. No _average_ omega.

It’s only some flinching around his eyes that gives him away, their usual brown a shade darker. Duller. He presses his fingers into the swollen glands in his neck and they come away slick. He can’t even be disgusted at himself, can't even lament without _need_ underlying it all.

It _had_ been his first time. His throat is thick with the knowledge of it, swelling tight and painful. He’s denied himself over the years, playing the conversative, untouchable heir. Enduring his heats alone and unattended—all of it given up in the name of Overwatch.

Reaching for the faucet, Hanzo turns on the shower, waiting for the water to run punishingly hot before he steps beneath it. Only then does he see the fingerprint shaped bruises bitten into the tops of his arms.

Not from Sentaiman, not when he'd been bound, no. They're one last gift from his assailant.

The only comfort he has is that the water will wash him clean.

_Clean._

He repeats it to himself, over and over until the word means nothing and his skin is red and splotchy. He doesn’t even wash, just stands and shivers, hands clasped tightly together to ignore the awful, unwanted urge he has to slide them between his legs.

 

* * *

 

Dark hair clings to Hanzo’s face, water running in lazy trails down his bare back and chest. He's pink cheek-to-toe by the time he leaves the shower, a thin towel wrapped around his hips as he gathers his clothes from the floor and brings them into his room.

He nearly drops them when a figure enters the room, tall and imposing, casting a long shadow across the tatami.

Sojiro raises one fine, arched eyebrow at him and Hanzo's pulse jumps, the shock jolting him from the hazy warmth of his shower. Ten years, and Sojiro’s never crossed foot into Hanzo's space. Had never been interested.

Seeing him here is surreal.

“Chichi,” Hanzo murmurs, and he cannot hide the tremor in his voice. He has no way of knowing when he’d been found, if Sojiro knew nothing or _everything_ and had merely allowed him a shower for modesty’s sake.

“You were out late,” Sojiro remarks, inflectioness, his face a cold mask. The Stone Dragon. “Have you slept?”

His father’s gaze strips Hanzo further than the meagre towel around his waist, leaving him naked under the scrutiny; too aware of his bruised arms and the cold air around him. His chest prickles, stomach twisting as he shakes his head, gaze fixed on Sojiro’s lips, unwilling to glance into that penetrating stare.

“I was hoping your brother might be with you.”

A simple statement, but one bloated with expectation. Only practice keeps Hanzo’s impassive expression in place; Genji is missing. The timing is unfortunate.

“I have not seen him since yesterday,” Hanzo answers, and it is the truth.

He’s conscious of Sojiro watching him, drawing his own conclusions from the shards of information scattered between them. Those sharp eyes settle on his biceps and Hanzo’s stomach rolls. The sensation of blood draining from his face enough to leave him dizzy.

_The bruises._

“Chichi, it’s not—” he begins to protest, the words dying on his tongue when Sojiro holds up a hand and steps forward.

Instinctively Hanzo tenses, body curling in on itself, his hands gripping at the tie of his towel lest it should fall. He stays steady until Sojiro’s fingers thread into his hair, then the stillness becomes unnatural—locking him in his place with his lips parted and fear in his lidded eyes. He braces himself for more cruel words, for the sting of a slap. None of them come. Instead Sojiro noses along the glands on his neck and Hanzo’s knees quiver, his father breathing him in, the heat of his exhale tingling on Hanzo’s skin.

“Chichi,” he tries again, heart picking up. This close Hanzo can scent the alpha on Sojiro, thick with fire and poppy smoke—soothing and stirring in equal measure.

“You smell sweet.”

The words are low and rumbling, Sojiro’s lips pulled back over his teeth, the impact of them jarring against Hanzo’s ribs. For a second the grip in his hair tightens and he’s overcome with the fear that Sojiro will bite down, sink his teeth into Hanzo’s flesh and rend him into pieces.

Then he’s released, and Sojiro is arms length away once more.

“Fix … _this.”_ The emphasis tells Hanzo all he needs to know. “Bad enough I should already have one son playing the whore. It will be far worse if the public suspects my heir.”

Sojiro exits swiftly, cool air swirling over Hanzo’s damp and dripping form. He shivers, alone with his head full of questions and his gut full of a traitorous heat.

 

* * *

 

The day ticks on without meaning, Genji absent late into the evening and long past nightfall. It’s disconcerting, though hardly the first of his brother’s disappearances. Once the estate falls silent Genji finally returns—or Hanzo assumes it is him—clattering through the hallway, pulling open the shoji to his room and closing them with a heavy thud.

Hanzo had been awake, pouring over the business of the day on a tablet, given up on the possibility of sleep.

“Anija,” Genji’s voice is pleased, if slightly slurred, “You’re still up.”

“Where have you been?” Hanzo hisses, anger a hot light in the pit of his stomach, setting the tablet down and turning to Genji for the first time since he’d stumbled in. His eyes go wide; Genji’s spiked green hair is tousled beyond saving, throat littered with red and purple love-bites, an implacable look in his eye.

“Doing— uh—important things.”

Something about the upturn of Genji’s lips has Hanzo scowling, a secret there he can’t decipher. “Of course you have,” he quips in turn, forcing down the urge to bare his teeth. His brother only laughs at him, flicking the switch to his lamp and plunging them into darkness without explanation. _“Genji,”_ Hanzo says. There’s no reply, only the sound of footsteps drawing near to his futon. A thud, then arms curl around his waist and Genji’s lips are pressing up against the nape of his neck.

“You smell like sex.” Hanzo accuses, the scent rolling heavy on the back of his tongue—Genji’s usual citrus mingled with musky omega and an underlying chemical hint.

Already too raw, too sensitive, Hanzo can feel every point where Genji’s body touches his with startling intensity. He can’t breathe; Genji’s mouth hot against the back of his neck, kissing at the notches of his spine. A choked noise wells up in his chest, his mind screaming _danger_ as Genji remains quiet for another longer moment, lips skirting back and forth, smiling against his skin.

“Well you smell good, anija,” he says, pausing to squeeze Hanzo closer, “You’ll let me stay here tonight, won’t you?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna stay tuned for the sequel sub to the series! Updates should be in less than a week's time, new fic because Jesse will be playing a key role, but if you liked this I'm pretty sure you'll like what's ahead.
> 
> I have everything done already for once, so I'm excited to post!
> 
> For more questionable content find me @ [trueblackhand](https://trueblackhand.tumblr.com/)|tumblr ♥


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